Sad Reunion
by TreeFiddy04
Summary: Stan meets Wendy years later at a party. She's not quite what he expected her to be, and neither is he for her.


"She's fucked up," Kenny said, and laughed, which set off raucous laughter from the rest of the people gathered out by the back porch.

The girl straightened up and wiped her mouth off with the back of her hand. Stan got a good look at her face for the first time, and a shock ran through him. There was no mistaking those fine features, those wide purple eyes, that gently swooping black hair, that slender neck; it was Wendy Testaburger.

Stan shook his head and crumpled up the tin foil in his hands, throwing it to the ground. "You okay?" he called out.

"Don't talk to me... scum," she spat, finally off the steps. "I just need a cigarette. A Goddamn cigarette, and I'll be good."

Stan watched Wendy take a few unsteady steps away from the porch. All the people who were outside were still laughing and jeering at him, falsely guessing his intentions. Stan just wondered what she was doing here, on this side of town, at a party like this. Shouldn't she have some fancy college party to go to? She looked woefully out of place. Stan bet that those were real diamonds sparkling on her ears. She was going to get mugged, or worse.

Wendy threw everyone else a patronizing look, then fumbled around in the small purse slung over her shoulder. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and stuck one in her mouth. Stan saw the stains her lipstick left on the filter. Wendy's hand felt its way around the purse until she exclaimed, "Goddammit!"

"Need a light?" Sid held up his own lighter and flicked it. The flame was warm and bright, compared to the cool light that the porch light was giving off.

"I hate that pick up line," Wendy said, but she came over anyway.

Stan glanced over at his buddies, but decided it was best to ignore the faces that they were making at him. Wendy held out her hand for the lighter, then tried to prise it out of his hand.

"I'll light it for you," Stan took her wrist and moved her hand back down by her side.

Wendy glared at him, but let him light her cigarette. She leaned her head back as she took a deep drag.

"Do I know you? You look familiar," she said, letting a cloud of smoke billow out from her matte, red lips.

"You don't remember me and my fuckin' poof ball hat? It's me, Stan Marsh," Stan said.

"Stan Marsh... Marsh," Wendy mused, taking several more deep drags.

"From South Park Elementary School?" Stan kept trying to jog her memory.

"Yeah, yeah, you know, this would be easier if I wasn't so drunk," Wendy shook her head, then bowed it, looking like she was going to throw up again. "Oh, yeah, I remember you now. You were a fuckin'... fucking normal, holy shit, what happened? You're hot now."

Stan blinked. She must have been really drunk if she thought he was hot. He was still short, still thin, nothing special. His black hair was still cropped, going a little past the top of his ears, while he had rimmed his eyes with black liner and had a skull tattoo on his arm.

"What are you even doing over here?" Stan put his arm around Wendy and led her away from the porch, toward the outer edge of the backyard. He ignored the hoots and hollers from the group.

"What does it look like? I'm here to get messed," Wendy shook her head and pulled out another cigarette.

Stan lit it for her, "You're on the wrong side of town. You're gonna get raped walkin' around at this time, lookin' like that. You're crazy, forgeddaboutit, let me walk you home."

"I'm still rich... I can call my limo and take that home, you loser ex-boyfriend. You're not getting in my pants," Wendy half snorted and giggled.

"I don't want to," Stan said, but he would be lying if he said that at one point, he hadn't wanted to get in them.

"Whatever. You know what's great about these kinds of parties? People go here to get drunk, and to get messed up. If you get sloshed at a party like I go to, people look down their nose at you. And you know? I got sick of that, I got really, really sick. That's why I like to go to these parties. You common people are allowed to feel emotion, y'know? You can fuck and drink and smoke and have fun. I can't do that. I hate it, I fucking hate it!" A tear slipped out of her eye.

"You need to go home," Stan said, "you need to go home, home, yeah?" She didn't know what she was talking about. "These things aren't great. People go here to get messed, so they can forget all the shit that they have to deal with in real life, an' it consumes them. I'm here so I can smoke away how I'm gonna be out of a home in a month if my old man doesn't pay the rent," Stan said. He hadn't meant to say that, but his high was starting to hit. He tended to loose control of his mouth.

"Whatever, you're allowed to feel. I can't. I've gotta be perfect Wendy, beautiful Wendy, socially acceptable Wendy, I'm sick of playing that part. I'm going back in," Wendy shrugged off Stan's arm.

Stan let his eyes follow her. She tripped a few times walking back through the slick grass. Her heels sunk into the mud. Stan wondered how much those had cost. He bet if he stole those shoes and sold them, he could pay the rent. He didn't know why she really wanted to be here, why she though that drinking until she was sick would fix things. She was a good girl. She had a lot going for her. He didn't.

Wendy stopped at the top step and with her hand on the doorknob, looking back at Sid. Her lips pursed and she seemed like she was contemplating saying something.

"You were a good kid, Stan. I always thought you were a good kid. You had things going for you," she whispered before slipping inside, before disappearing in the sea of bodies.

"Christ, man, what the fuck? Brah, I can't believe a girl that fucked would turn you down," Kenny said when Stan rejoined his friends.

"Whatever, dude, I knew her in elementary school. I couldn't fuck that. All the time I'd be thinkin' about 10 year old her, and that'd be sick," Stan brushed it off. "Hand me the fuckin' pipe."

You were a good kid, Stan. I always thought you were a good kid.

Stan exhaled a cloud of smoke and watched it drift into the night sky. He drifted with it, and he was a million miles away, undulating with the smoke, floating away from a broken person and her broken ideas. He was far away from his own shattered life.

 **A/N- It's always odd for anyone to meet someone who you used to know, especially like a church kid or something, and they're smoking, drinking, or I find out they do drugs. It's like, what happened. Where did they go wrong? And then I think of myself, and it's like, where did I go wrong? Why am I doing the same things as you? What happened to us? Anyone please follow to my account for more of these fics. This is Boi Marsh signing out.**


End file.
